You're Not Alone
by TheSlashBunny
Summary: He'd been there at times when there was nothing to say, nothing to do. But today was different. They were already off-script; what would be the harm of going a bit further? *Rated: T b/c a redshirt dies**Friendship - could be more, if you want it to be*


He didn't need to be his best friend to know that Jim would be taking the situation hard. Didn't need to be his best friend to know where to find him either. But only Jim's best friend would know the code to get into the captain's locked quarters. And if Jim had changed it to keep him out, he wasn't above using his medical override tonight.

He found him sitting on the lone sofa in his room in the near-dark, head in his hands, open bottle (and not that synthohol crap) on the table in front of him. He didn't say a word, just sat down next to the blond, reached over and took a long pull from the bottle before putting it back in its previous position and leaning back, his tense muscles relaxing as much as they finally could while still knowing his friend needed him. They sat in silence. Every other serious conversation that they'd ever had about the shit in Jim's life (all of which had also involved copious amounts of alcohol - probably not the best coping mechanism, but it worked for them) had taught him that he needed to let Jim say the first words. McCoy had always thought that he was a private person - he hid behind a mask of gruffness that had only hardened after his bitter divorce and didn't often talk about what was bothering him. Sure, he bitched when he was annoyed or angry and wasn't afraid to speak his mind, but if he was hurting about something, it was more likely for Spock to laugh than it was for McCoy to open up about it.

He had nothing on Jim.

If Jim was hurting - scratch that - _when_ Jim was hurting, he buried it deep, deep down inside, using alcohol, sex, and violence to ignore it, to quash his feelings beneath physical sensation. The doctor's psych degree told him that it was unhealthy, but the doctor didn't need to tell the blond that; the kid was a fucking genius - he knew that already. But it had worked for him so far, right?

Since they'd met though, there had been a few times that it was too much to hide - or maybe the kid had realized that, for unfortunately the first time in his life, he had someone who was not only willing to listen, but someone who was almost as screwed up and wasn't about to judge him for anything he said. And slowly Jim had realized that Bones wasn't going to leave, wasn't going to abandon him for needing someone to talk to, for needing someone to listen, for needing someone to just be there by his side. Jim had sat beside the man on his daughter's birthdays, on the anniversaries of both his marriage and his divorce, and had listened to him bitch and moan and put up with his grumpiness without ever expecting anything in return. He'd seemed shocked when Bones willingly reciprocated the first time Jim hadn't been able to hold it all in and even more shocked when Bones had been there the next time - and the next. They never touched, just sat and listened and sometimes responded. They never mentioned it, never spoke about what was said during those alcohol-induced outpourings of emotion, never acknowledged tears that were shed. They never referenced what they knew, just occasionally offered a knowing look, a silent and compassionate understanding.

No one knew each as well as the other. It had led to rumors, the way that they could communicate with just a look, the way that Kirk stopped getting into fights and sleeping around, the way McCoy just seemed less irritable whenever his roommate was around. Over the years, they'd begun to read each other so well that one would just know when the other was having a bad day, when something had gone wrong - and would be waiting with a bottle of the good stuff when they got home. Even after Jim became Captain of the Enterprise, became even better at hiding his feelings under his sense of duty and a mask of professionalism, some things stayed the same. All it took was a twitch of his mouth, a tic at the corner of his eye, for Bones to know that something was wrong and that Jim would need him after shift was over.

But today, the CMO didn't need to know him that well to know that all was not right with his Captain.

Today was different. And they both knew it.

After that first drink, the alcohol remained on the coffee table, untouched as Bones stared at the tense back of his friend in the gloom. After half an hour of sitting in the dim light and no change from his friend, Bones decided that they were already off-script, no harm in going further from their norm. After all, the day had been anything but normal, and they were both drained - emotionally and physically.

"Surgery was successful." A pause, waiting for a reaction.

Nothing.

"He's going to make it, Jim."

A raspy whisper.

"Owens didn't." A ragged breath. "And it's my fault."

Leonard wondered how many times they would have this conversation throughout Jim's career. It wasn't the first time a decision of Jim's had directly affected the continued existence of one of his crew and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

But what was he supposed to say? _You made the right choice?_ Again, the kid was a fucking genius - he knew that already. But it didn't make it any easier. And it wouldn't make it any easier the next time he had to make the correct, but potentially fatal, decision.

There were times that he thought that perhaps Jim was too young for this, didn't have the necessary life experience to cope with some of the situations and outcomes he was forced to face at such an age. But through all his years of medicine, and through all the years to come, the doctor knew that losing a patient never got any easier - and that if it ever did, he would retire.

So what was he supposed to say? Through the four years he'd known Jim, the kid had told him some horrible things - things that made him cringe, that made him want to break something (or someone), that made him cry. He'd been there at times when there was nothing to say, nothing to do. He'd heard about Jim's childhood, listened to his insecurities. He'd consoled and encouraged him. He'd been by Jim's side during the aftermath of the Narada. Hell, he'd held the man's hand after bringing him back from the brink of death more times than he wanted to think about.

Compared to what they'd been through - as much as he hated to admit it - one death alone seemed like a blessing.

But today was different.

Today, Jim had hesitated.

The man thrived in stressful situations, and yes, he had his concerns about his abilities as a captain - only a complete fool never questioned themselves - but he'd never let it interfere in the performance of his duties.

But today was different.

And one man was dead and another was recovering from major surgery because of it.

Hazel eyes took in the form of his friend. Strong shoulders hunched, elbows that he knew were bony and sharp digging into the tops of firm thighs, calloused hands buried in hair that was softer than it looked. He had seen Jim break, had watched him put himself back together. But right now, he looked defeated.

"Jim."

Bones knew what to say.

"Jim, look at me." When his friend didn't move, he leaned forward and gently pulled those hands away. He placed his palms on either side of that strong jaw, forcing those pained eyes to meet his own.

"It never gets easier." Beautiful blue hid in a wince. He waited for him to meet his gaze again before continuing. "But I will never lose my faith in you. You're not alone..." He braced himself for what he was going to say next. "... and you never will be."

It was a heavy declaration. It was a promise. The promise of a lifetime and he didn't flinch away when that intense stare searched him. He didn't back down and met Jim's gaze firmly, knowing Jim would understand everything that he was trying to communicate.

No matter what happened, one thing would always stay the same. Jim would always have someone by his side who would understand, who would never stop believing in him even when he stopped believing in himself.

Even when Jim had nothing else left, he would always have his Bones.


End file.
